Searching for Halycon
by Le Diable
Summary: Marvel thinks he's finally shot of his rivalry with Cato the minute he graduates, but his own arrogance throws him right back into the conflict zone for a whole summer out on the Seam. Rehab for blowing up toilets? Really?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: **I was really debating whether or not to upload this story or not. I really wrote it as a bit of a joke. I wanted to write slash and I wanted to write humour. This fic has a lot of R-rated slash and a lot, a lot, A LOT of profanities! If this is not something you think you can enjoy, I'd advise you to click the back button now. It is all written from the point of view of Marvel who I have purposely made very un-PC. Now I don't want people to take the fic too seriously but it's been sitting in my documents for ages and since I've written it, I have been seriously debating whether or not to try and write an actual novel. I have a long way to go before becoming a good writer so the advice and criticism of what I have done would really help me.

Hope you enjoy. This is technically an alternate universe fic because the actual Hunger Games do not exist. I am also basing my characterisation on the movie portrayals because I think the actors did an amazing job and really brought the book characters to life.

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

I don't know what kick-started my hatred of school.

I mean, I know most normal kids generally don't like school anyway. But I don't just dislike it – I fucking hate every minute I have to spend in those stuffy little classrooms, sniffing in the teenage body odour, listening to some uptight old has been nattering away about photosynthesis and hyperbole and the right angles of an isosceles triangle as if I actually _am_ going to use this information whenever I go outside into the real world. Not.

This is actually the biggest school in the country. It's located slap bang in the Capitol's City Circle. It blends perfectly with all other deemed acceptable establishments in the city; large, white, square, made of marble and engraved with the faces of people who are supposed to be famous or have done something really important in history but no one cares enough to remember what.

They even stuck the word 'Royal' in front of it, though Panem has never even had a king or queen, not even in the days when it was known as America. So how the hell does that make any sense?

I'll get straight to the point. I hate school a lot, which makes me one happy son of a bitch on this very day. It's the last day of school. I'm 18 years old and I've finally completed my 7 ridiculously long years of compulsory education at the Royal Academic Institute of Panem. I'M GOING TO BE A FREE MAN! Free to have the freedom to be free and using my free time doing absolutely _nothing at all_.

I can't wait.

I advance up the main steps into the entrance foyer. Usually it's bustling with students and teachers running to get into class on time but as I have taken the liberty to come in an hour later than usual, it's empty. As I scrape my sneakers across the marble floor, I glance to the side, where a huge mahogany door stretching across half of the wall has a sizeable gold plaque mounted on it. On the gold plaque in very swirly writing and decorated with roses, are the words:

_Dr C. N. T. Snow  
School Principal  
Royal Academic Institute of Panem_

I always laughed at how his initials pretty much spell 'cunts', which is exactly what he is - a flaming huge bag of cunts. I flip the bird at this huge ass door and at the face more than likely sitting behind it before heading in the direction of what would've been my second class of the day, biology or physics, I don't know. I didn't even show up for the end of year exams for those subjects and I ended up passing anyway, but more on that later.

When I stroll in I make a beeline for the very back of the room. The teacher completely ignores me; she's used to my tardiness. She hardly expected me to make an effort on my very last day did she? She hasn't put out any work and everyone is just sitting together in their little isolated circles.

I never bothered making friends at school – I think I may have had some when I was younger but just grew out of them. In fact, the only other person in my class sitting alone is the kid from District 11, and that explains in itself why he has no friends, asides from the fact that he bites the head off anybody who goes near him. Could be worse, he could be from District 12 – that's pretty much the '_homo neanderthalensis_ _hunts with wooden tools_' standard of living. I watch him for a few moments. He's sitting very still with his head bowed forwards and eyes shut. Maybe he's having a snooze.

I was born and raised in District 1 –the wealthiest of all the provinces that surround the Capitol. My name is Marvel by the way, may come in handy knowing that. Anyway, District 1 is about an hour away by train, and everything about it is high rise, metallic, futuristic and sterile. I don't mind it too much. I've never been one of those wishy-washy nature freaks that need a lot of trees or mountain air or whatever else. With my parents' salaries I've lived a very comfortable life in District 1 and have never had to worry about anything.

The Capitol however is a fucking nasty place. People rave and rant about how brilliant it is but in reality it's just a shithole jam-packed full of ridiculously overpriced clothes shops, casinos, beauty parlours and banks.

And I use the term 'beauty' lightly. One day two months ago my sister and her friend came home from a day out in the Capitol with their hands tattooed bright pink. Their _hands_... tattooed _bright pink_... Anyone else see how retarded this is?

My dad went completely berserk but my mum just shrugged and said all the girls would be doing it sooner or later. I have hence concluded that women, including my sister, mother and the majority of the female staff at my school, and their perceptions of beauty are retarded. My freaking teacher has a blue afro, for Pete's sake.

I hate her. And I hate the school, I hate it, I fucking hate it. I think of Principal Snow's fat ugly face and hate it even more. How I'd love fuck him up, just a little bit. And I'm not talking about spray-painting a dick on his big ass door; I want to do something serious. Something that people will remember... something that might cost the school a fair penny to fix...

I groan, ignoring the people who look round curiously, and rap my knuckles incessantly on my table. Why don't I have any cool friends to plot this stuff with?

My eyes return to Thresh, the District 11 kid. He's always by himself, never seems to be enjoying himself, maybe he wouldn't object to a bit of mayhem. Plus, he's District 11 – he'll probably have contacts all over the school for all sorts of seedy business. I may need 'supplies' so to speak.

Doesn't hurt to ask, does it? Well, unless he punches me for bothering him.

I watch him for a few more minutes, trying to gauge his mood. Then I lift myself out of my seat and drop into the one beside him. He doesn't lift his head but his dark eyes snap open and lock onto mine with a thinly veiled hint of a threat. God, this guy is just a little bundle of sunshine.

"Hey man, how's it going?" I say casually, in a slippery attempt to sound friendly. His eyes narrow even sharper so I quickly decide to ditch that approach. I lean in to avoid being overheard. "Listen, this is going to sound random as hell, but do you have anything on you at the moment?"

"What, you think cause I'm black I just carry dope on me all day?" I swear to God I think my palms are starting to get a bit sweaty. This guy is intimidating as hell. Anger just seems to radiate out of his every pore.

"No, not dope you..." I pause. I tend to drop meaningless insults between every word I speak, just out of habit, but this guy could use it as an excuse to smack me silly. "OK," I say, lowering my voice. "I'm on the scrapbook at the moment, but I think I want to blow up the science block toilets."

He stares. Then a strange noise comes out of his throat and I think it might actually be his rusty old voice box trying to chuckle.

"Is this your idea of an end of school prank?" he asks.

"More like the biggest middle finger I could ever give them."

"I can think of worse," he says, and falls eerily silent.

Oh Thresh, I'm sure you fucking can! This brute would probably go more along the lines of turning Snow inside out and smearing him all over the white marble front doors. Then probably sitting down and having a sandwich while waiting patiently for the Armed Response units to arrive.

The silence drags. I wait for him to start talking again. I don't want to press him.

Thresh doesn't fit into this school one bit. Everything here is about face value. The school's reputation this, the school's reputation that... Principal Snow's expectations this, Principal Snow's expectations that... If grades falter, they're marked up. If a student breaks rules, they're punished, but never expelled. Rates and percentages of failure, expulsion and attendance are of crucial importance and can never seem to be anything less than perfect.

Even the teachers have to be decked out in the most expensive garb, always keeping to the current trends of course, to make the school look pretty and attractive from the outside. On the inside it's a mess. Students persistently scoring less than average grades, no attempt to coach any improvements, kids not showing up half the time, inter-district conflict and general misery. But nothing a little bit of tweaking the paperwork can't fix!

Thresh, he's... well, poor. Once you move past District 10 out into the wilderness, things start to go downhill very fast. I'd say his entire outfit – plain black trousers, a cheap shirt, no jumper, and standard working boots – probably cost him less than half of what my mum paid for my sneakers.

There is a permanent boarding option for kids from the further away districts. The majority of students originate from District 1 but rich families in District 2 tend to send their kids here too. The standard of the rooms leaning from satin duvets and en suite bathrooms to rooms of three rows of bunk beds and one sink. I feel bad for whoever has to share a bunk with Thresh, all 6 foot... 7 or 8 of him. I would pick the floor.

He clears his throat. I jolt from where I've been staring absently at faded stains on his shirt sleeve that look suspiciously like dried blood.

"What do you want anyway?"

"Ideas," I reply. "I just want to chuck something down the toilets, have them explode, make a shit load of damage – excuse my pun – and then I'll be on my merry way. I was thinking cherry bombs or something, but I'll take anything – even fucking Mentos and coke if you have them."

"I don't," he shakes his head. "But you could speak to a couple of guys I know in the year below. They're from my District, and I'm not saying they definitely have anything, but I know there's a flash protest planned on the outskirts this evening and they're going down straight after school."

I grin, clicking on immediately to his implications. These friends of his are stocked up.

"Thanks man." I get up to leave him in peace but he grabs my arm.

"Wait until I'm far away," he says with a half-smile. I'm amazed! I have actually just had a friendly altercation with this robot man. Although he probably doesn't mean to, his grip is crushing my wrist. I'll probably have a bruise later in the shape of his massive hand.

When the bell for the end of our third class goes and everyone flocks out onto the playground, I spot the District 11 boys immediately. The first blindingly obvious clue is that they're isolated as hell. The second is that they're all black. They're sitting at the steps near the gym block, their heads together and talking quietly, every so often looking up to make sure no one is within hearing distance of them.

I snigger to myself. Way to look suspicious; if I was planning an attack against the police, I wouldn't be bringing my explosives beforehand into a school that distrusts, isolates and habitually stop-searches you based on what part of the country you happened to be born in. Actually, maybe I would. I respect them a bit for not giving a fuck at all.

It was caused a bit of an uproar when Snow managed to convince the councils to start up a scholarship programme to fund education for kids from lesser districts. Everyone thought it was such a huge step forward for equal rights in the Capitol, considering anyone from Districts 9-12 (with the exception of 10) is treated as less than dirt and usually cast out from the greater community. I can't blame them really. These fuckers – black, white and brown alike – live like animals. They're paid a decent wage and given houses by the Capitol and they see it fit to throw it back in their faces with constant uprisings and strikes. So when the councils passed this all inclusive legislation, the majority of District 1 and 2 parents practically pissed themselves. Who could bear the thought of the kids of stinking factory workers and sweaty farm labourers sitting down at the same lunch table as their own precious sprogs? They probably whispered into little Jimmy's ears as they left him off at the front gate to stay away from those dirty poor kids or else he'll have his milk money nabbed. There's a lot of conflict in the school that isn't so obvious from the outside, with groups of lesser district kids being jumped and bullied on a daily basis.

But Principal Snow got some good press out of it, and apparently that's all that matters. The prick.

One of the District 11 kids nudges his companion and suddenly they're all looking at me. Whoops, guess I was staring for too long. Better get this over with.

As I cross the playground towards them, two of the brawnier ones come out to meet me. Jesus H, why are they so fucking _built_? They're not as tall as Thresh, but they look just as powerful.

"Hello boys," I call when they're a couple of metres away. One of them doesn't stop until we've knocked foreheads.

"What the fuck do you want, prick?" he spits.

That's polite. "Thresh said I could get some gear off you."

Oho, that startled him. He immediately steps back. "Thresh?"

"Yeah, Thresh. He's my mate," I say, bluffing a bit. They share a look. By now a couple of the other boys have come forward curiously. I glance around nervously. Yep, perfect, now the teachers are looking over at us suspiciously. I quickly force out a laugh and clap one of the smaller ones on the shoulders in a way I hope looks friendly. "The teachers are looking over at us you retards, I'm sure you rather they didn't come snooping right?"

The one who knocked my forehead puts his arm around my shoulder, but his fists my shirt discreetly in warning. The others fake some smiles and clap my hand and I'm steered over to their steps.

When I look back round, the teachers have been distracted elsewhere – now's my chance. I don't want to loiter around these assholes any longer than necessary.

"Look," I say, ducking under the guys arm. "I need explosives–" some of them guffaw in shock "–just mild ones though, I'm firing them down the guys toilets in the science block, my personal goodbye to that prick Snow. Do you have any?"

One of the weedier ones stands. He's wearing a pair of ridiculously chunky black glasses, and the lenses are like a frosted window. I have to fight the urge to smirk at him. "I might have them – _might_." He holds up one finger and wags it. "But you know I'll probably need them later. What can you give me for them?"

"The satisfaction of seeing shit splattered all over the science block," I say in dead seriousness. When I can see that isn't going to work, I check my pockets. I have about $30 that my mum gave me for lunch and the town, but I don't think I'll have much of an appetite after the toilet explosions. "And $15."

He snorts. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"$30 then, that's all I've got."

He stares at me for a bit. I think so anyway, I can't see his eyes through those stupid glasses. "Right, give me the 30."

I reluctantly hand it over. What an asshole.

"Come here," he says. He gestures to the others. "Keep an eye out."

I bend down and pretend to tie my shoe laces. I feel a tug on my backpack and when I stand again, there's something digging into my back through the fabric.

"Get out of here," says the boy. He slips my $30 into his trouser pockets. I hope he uses it to buy himself a new pair of glasses but I doubt it.

"Cheers boys."

I don't check them until I'm locked inside one of the cubicles. I unzip my backpack quietly and lift my $30 worth of goodies out. I nearly choke on my own saliva. They're fireworks, but they're _prehistoric_! Fuck's sake! Is this the best District 11 had to fling at police? No wonder they can't do anything right with this complete garbage. I sigh – that was $30 on something that should cost about 50 cents at the most.

To be fair they are perfect for the job so I have to give the boy some credit. The label says they're not manufactured to be showy; instead they pack a powerful blast and a screeching bang. It's a pack of 12, more than I need. There are ten toilets, so I double them up in the first two.

As I'm setting a crude fuse, a little twerp with curly hair comes in. I nearly leap a foot in the air. Everyone is supposed to be in the assembly, fuck! I grab him by the collar and fling him back out into the hall on his ass.

"Use the girls, kid."

Anybody else will just have to get their balls blown off. I'm definitely not going to wait around to get a face full of shit.

Ten minutes later I'm tearing through the hallways, already laughing like a maniac. Any second now... any second now... There it is! I hear the explosions from the next building. I have to stop because I'm actually doubling up from laughter. Oh God, win! I can't believe it actually worked! Fuck you, Snow!

Down the hall, a couple of young pupils come out of a nearby classroom. On hearing the bangs, they shrieked and clutched at each other.

"What's that? Terrorists?" they squeal, and it only makes me laugh harder. They edge around me, looking at me as if I'm completely crazy and hurry down the stairs. I follow. Everyone is being evacuated from the assembly hall as teachers are running to check out what's happened. I slip into the crowd and struggle to keep the grin off my face. I couldn't have wished for any better than this.

By the time we're all herded into the playground, word has spread. Around me the students suddenly start laughing and whooping. I only get to enjoy this brief moment of solidarity with my schoolmates for a few seconds before someone suddenly shoves my shoulder hard. I look around and have to bite back my groan.

Although I don't have friends at this school, I do have people I hate beyond the fact that they're just annoying and constantly in my way. This guy, Cato, is one of them. I've known him for years and throughout those years we've exchanged millions of insults and punches to the point where the teachers have had to put us into separate classes. Although we both equally instigated our own little rivalry, he is known around the school for his extremely bad temper and tendency to respond to everything with violence. A couple of days ago he brought in a knife to threaten some kid who had accidentally knocked his lunch out of his hands the day before. He'd probably be the most popular kid in school otherwise – he's blond, blue eyed and quintessentially what girls would probably find attractive. But no matter what he looks like, it doesn't change the fact that he is a complete and utter psychopath, which makes me question the state of mind of the thing hanging off his arm.

This thing is called Glimmer and she's from my district. She was the type of girl everyone fancied before they realised she's actually just an empty-headed vacuous bitch – she's blonde like he is, has straight white teeth and a fucking hot body. Today she's wearing a pair of black leggings as pants and it makes her ass just look completely fucking perfect.

Damn them both to hell.

"Where were you ten minutes ago, _Marvel_?" Cato asks, his mouth twisting into an openly mocking smile that I'd love to punch straight off his face. "I didn't see you at the assembly. Hope you weren't caught loitering around those toilets, people might think that _you_ would be the only one in this school crazy enough to cause thousands of dollars' worth of criminal damage on their last fucking day."

Glimmer giggles something uselessly at his side. I want to clout Cato in the face a second time just for being able to pull something so goddamn perfect looking, even if she does have the personality of a piece of toast.

"Ten minutes ago?" I ask innocently and scratch my head, pretending to think. "I can't remember... oh no, wait, I do now, I was at the street corner getting my dick sucked by your mother. It was a lousy blow so it slipped my mind pretty quickly."

The smile drops off his face like a stone and I have to scoot backwards to avoid the punch he swings at my head. I think he may have hit someone else by accident, but I've already slipped away through the crowds. I can hear yelling and scuffling and suddenly everyone is screaming and pushing.

I break out of the throng and turn to watch from the side as a full scale _riot_ is practically taking place in the middle of the playground. Someone starts throwing bottles of water and half eaten sandwiches into the crowd and the screaming intensifies. I start to laugh again, when something suddenly catches my eye.

It's my science teacher's blue afro. She has her head together with the Vice Principal and she's... oh fuck, she's looking straight at me and she doesn't look happy. Then she actually _points right at me_! The Vice Principal's eyes snap right onto mine and I know immediately that they know who blew up those toilets.

I turn and run. I hear someone yell my name angrily, but it doesn't sound like any of my teachers. I don't look round to verify the caller though; I'm already straight out the gates and darting through the main plaza onto the side streets. They can search through the whole City Circle if they want to find me, but it looks like they have a bigger, rowdier problem on their hands. I grin as I slow, joining the bustle of midday shoppers and workers returning from their lunch breaks.

I have nothing to compare it to but I don't think that was too bad a send-off.

* * *

I spend the rest of the day sitting on a park bench drinking a shitty cheap milkshake that I bought with some change I scraped up from the linings of my pockets.

I think about just getting the train back to my district. The Capitol is OK for some things, like fast food and sweetshops, but everything else in it is too brightly coloured and, quite frankly, _gay_ looking for my liking. It's like someone took a thousand dead chickens, some sequins and stuffed them into a washing machine with every colour of dye under the sun.

A young woman of about twenty walks past me. She has her eyes lowered to the phone in her hands, but she looks up coyly at me as she struts past. She's wearing a short, slinky silver dress and her skin is tattooed head to toe in an effect that looks like peacock feathers. Who in the hell ever thought that would ever look good?

I can't go back home right now anyway. About an hour after I left school, I started receiving text messages from my mother, each of which got progressively angrier and more threatening as I left them unanswered. The most recent ones go something like this:

MARVEL YOU LITTLE BASTARD I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU THINK YOU ARE! BLOWING UP THE TOILETS!? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? EVERYONE WILL THINK IVE RAISED A SAVAGE – WHO DO

I flick to the next text.

YOU THINK HAS TO PAY FOR ALL THIS DAMAGE? ME! WHO DO YOU THINK HAS TO PAY TO GET YOU BAIL? ME! YES THAT'S RIGHT THE POLICE ARE IN MY HOUSE LOOKING FOR YOU! THEY'RE GOING TO

It's a bit tedious, I know. I don't know why she has to use so many exclamation and question marks whenever she's on a pay as you go contract. That's just wasting money.

ARREST YOU FOR CRIMINAL DAMAGE AND VANDALISM! GET HOME RIGHT THIS INSTANT OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL BEAT THE HEAD STRAIGHT OFF YOUR SHOULDERS YOUNG MAN!

I chuck my phone into my backpack and let out a loud fake snore. A man and woman walking their dog past me both jump in surprise and look back, giggling together. I'm suddenly enraged by the fact that not only is this 'man' wearing snakeskin kitten heels, but their golden retriever's fur is dyed bright green. Now what is the point of that? Why would you go out of your way to buy a _golden_ retriever and take the time out to _dye its golden hair fucking green_! And don't even get me started on that man's high heels!

I don't get the chance. As I'm watching them descend down the road with disdain, I hear a faint sound on the wind that catches my attention. Firstly, it sounds like the word 'Cato'. Second of all, it's followed by the words 'No' and 'He's not worth it'. Lastly, the voice is a very familiar feminine squawk of a voice that I hear sometimes on the train into school in the morning. Who gets my train in the morning again? Oh yeah, that Glimmer thing.

I realise my brain is working pretty slow at the moment – I think I'm still a bit dazed by the dog's hair being green and all that – so I decide instead to turn my head in the general direction that the sound came from.

Oh look at that, it's the lovely eloquent Cato, and he's charging right at me...

OH FU-!

I leap up off the bench, tossing my half-drunk milkshake in his general direction and start bounding out of there faster than a Tasmanian devil. I hear something that sounds like Glimmer laughing, but I'm already tearing down the road past that man in his heels and his stupid green dog.

Did Cato come all the way down here after me because of that comment about his mom? What a complete idiot! Though I'm saying this as I'm running away with my tail tucked between my legs – as much of a dumbass as he is, he is a _lot_ stronger and _lot _faster than I am.

I can hear the thud of his feet on the pavement behind me. He's catching up. Maybe I should just accept that I'm going to get my shit kicked in.

"Marvel I'm going to kick your fucking face in, you fucking douche!"

Even running home into a pair of police handcuffs is better than suffering the shame of Cato turning me into a human sausage in the middle of the town. Oh my God, that's it! I quickly scan my surroundings, yes, it could work! I veer off to the left towards where my only salvation may be found, running the route I make every day in and out of school.

Oh Gods, if you are there, please grant me this one prayer and I shall forever be – YES!

It's the train platform, and there in all its beautiful majestic glory is a gold-striped outbound train. Gold-striped means going to District 1, baby! I start laughing with incredulity as I bound down to the platform with my student pass open, dodging the commuters easily and dive into the nearest carriage just as the doors are shutting.

Could my luck possibly be any better than this?

I stand panting at the doors as Cato skids to a stop on the platform, his face set like thunder. He mouths something that looks like 'I'm going to kill you' but I just grin and wave merrily at him as the train pulls out of the station and his stupid ugly face vanishes out of sight.

I collapse in a free seat, still panting like crazy, ignoring the curious looks the other passengers are shooting me.

I just beat Cato. I just beat Snow. And now I will never have to see either of them again for the rest of my life.

I stick my earphones in and grin stupidly to myself. I know there's probably a ten tonne block of shit waiting to fall on my head when I get home to my irate mother but to be quite frank, this day has been worth it ten times over, and ten times again.

My phone bleeps again in my backpack. It's from my father this time.

'_Get home. Now.'_

I eye the very final full stop on this text wearily. My mother is an idiot and it's pretty easy to ignore her but my dad is one serious son of a bitch. I send him a quick text to let him know I'm on the train and add, '_take it easy on me'_. As the only boy out of three children, my dad has always had a bit of a soft spot for me which I have liberally taken advantage of over the years.

The reply arrives in an instant.

'_It's not me you have to worry about_.'

Wow. My mom must be really mad.

The idea makes me snicker. I turn my music up full blast and lean my head against the window, watching the Capitol shrink away in the distance before we bend around the mountains and it vanishes out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ibbonray, Anonymous** \- thanks for the reviews! I'm going to keep writing as much as my schedule will let me. Hope you keep reading.

Warnings for extremely foul language ahead.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

Fortunately, by the time I get home that evening, the police are no longer there. They've left something in their place though – a creepy looking man in a cobalt-blue suit with a square shaped line of beard around his mouth and chin. A shiny black briefcase and an untouched cup of tea were sitting in front of him on my mother's overly expensive glass coffee table. All of this I managed to see in about 2.5 seconds before I manage to dodge my mother's slap heading my direction and dive for protection behind my father.

Before the shouting can begin, the creepy suit guy speaks up. "Hello there young man, my name is Mr Crane and I'm the community officer appointed to Royal Academic Institute of Panem. You must be Marvel; it's very nice to meet you."

He reaches his hand under my dad's arm and I shake it without thinking. His skin is sticky.

"So," he says, taking a seat on the couch. "You blew up the toilets, then?"

I start laughing before I even attempt to protest my innocence. Creepy Crane's eyes glint somewhat.

"No point trying to wriggle out of this one, Marvel," says my dad as if he can read my mind. He fixes one severe blue one me. "I don't know how you could be so stupid. You knew there was CCTV everywhere in that goddamn school! They showed us the video footage of that District 2 kid shoving your head down the toilets in the ninth grade, you idiot! How could you have forgotten that?"

Ah, maybe that's why I subconsciously targeted those specific toilets. I would have blushed with shame if the very fresh wonderful memory of Cato's red, fuming face on the platform wasn't in the forefront of my mind. I just shrug.

"Luckily for you, the police have been required elsewhere," says Crane Creeper. "There are a couple of skirmishes in the town that need to be taken care of. Had you picked any other day to carry out your little act of vandalism, the cops would've been here to take you immediately into custody."

I open my mouth to shout "Bullshit!" and my dad elbows me in the side.

"How eloquent," says Crane. He picks up his cup of tea and takes a sip of it, even though I'm pretty sure it must have gone cold by now. "Now let's get the serious stuff out of the way. You're legally an adult Marvel. The charges brought against you are pretty steep. We have on here..." He lifts a piece of paper out of his briefcase. "...Possession of explosives, carrying out a malicious misuse of explosives in order to damage property, criminal damage to property..."

Bored, I stop listening about halfway through this.

My mom, standing silently by the door up to now, shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. It sounds a bit like 'disgraceful' but somehow I don't think she's referring to my charges. She won't even look me in the face.

Creep Master Crane continues.

"The Royal Academic Institute, despite admitting to being very disappointed with Marvel's behaviour" – I snort at this – "has put forward another proposal. An alternative to prevent the young man from entering his adult life with the burden of a criminal record. Should you consent to a small fine to cover the expenses of the damage done to the school, we would have Marvel enrolled on a short summer detention course angled at rehabilitating certain..." He pauses. "Certain 'degenerate' traits, if you will. There are a couple of other students at the school who will also be advised to enrol in this program at their own transgressions."

"You haven't even mentioned the best part," mutters my mom. When I look over at her I'm immediately frightened by the possibility she might start crying – because she certainly looks like she might.

"Yes," says Crane gravely. "Principal Snow has had to expel you forthwith from the school."

"No, he hasn't," I laugh. "Snow never expels anyone."

He looks extremely unimpressed. "No, he certainly has on occasions. And now unfortunately your name has added to that extremely short list." He turns to my parents and starts describing details of this centre thingy that they've pretty much already decided on without my consent.

Wait, _what? _This is all happening so fast. I'm a bit stung. They've expelled me from school, on the _last fucking day_! Like... really? Is that even possible?

"Wait a minute," I interrupt. "Does that mean I haven't actually graduated?"

"That is correct."

"So I haven't... finished high school?"

"Correct, although there we have another benefit of you participating in the rehabilitation scheme. Principal Snow is effectively the director, despite him not having the time to be there in person. He has consented to offer you your graduation from the school once you have completed your time on the course to an acceptable standard."

I'm dazed for a few moments, and then it hits me.

I'm not free. They're trying to drag me back. I had my freedom handed to me this morning and now they're effectively retracting it for another two months.

Fury floods my body. To _hell_ with that!

"Well you know what? You can tell Principal Snow that he can shove my graduation right up his ring-piece," I say. "And no, I won't go to any fucking _rehab centre_ or whatever the fuck you said. What do you think I am? Some fucking fourteen year old brat you can just push and shove wherever you point your fat fucking finger? Well, fuck that and fuck you! Put me in jail if you really want to, I bet you'd probably get off on it, you kid fiddling asshole."

My mother faints dead on the floor and my dad whirls round, his mouth roaring some obscenities and the back of his hand looking to connect with my face, but I've already darted for shelter around the coffee table. Crane raises two hands for calm. I'm amazed that his expression hasn't changed in the slightest during my tirade.

"Admirable," he says. "Truly admirable – you know what, Marvel? It might surprise you but Principal Snow will laugh when he hears about this. He loves a little spark of rebellion every now and again."

Ugh! Stop being so goddamn creepy!

"I'm truly sorry about his behaviour," says my dad. "I really don't know how the hell we raised him to be such an inconsiderate little bastard."

Crane raised his hand again, as if he was looking for a high five. "I've heard and dealt with far worse, it's an occupational hazard."

My dad still shoots me a look that could skewer a buffalo. I shift uncomfortably. Apart from swearing and acting like a brat, there isn't really anything I can do about the situation. I'm still a fucking child in a classroom, being scolded and punished by adults. _Fuck_.

"Don't fret Marvel, you should be grateful," says Crane unhelpfully. "Principal Snow has very generously dropped all charges against you and will leave it there if you agree to register on the course. Yes, I could send you to prison if I wanted to. I'm not saying that I do – you're lucky I've learned not to take offhand accusations of child molestation seriously anymore." He laughs a horrible raspy laugh that sends chills up and down my spine.

"Thank you, and sorry again–"

Oh for the love of Jesus, Dad! Shut up you whiny brown-noser!

"No, no, not at all, not at all," says Crane. He opens his briefcase and lifts out some very official forms along with a couple of bright colourful pamphlets that look like they're advertising some kiddie water park instead of a rehab centre for juveniles. "I've worked this job long enough to see the damage done to young impressionable men when they go into jail. Some of the horrors that can go on behind prison bars are... unspeakable."

It doesn't take a genius to decode his words. His eyes suddenly slide over me like a dollop of grease - I can see him noting my boyish face, my lack of real muscle development. I'm tall and I'm hardly a stick, but I'm not exactly the World Strongest Man. I know he knows fine rightly that if I was ever put in jail, I'd be a walking, talking target.

And it's true. Nerves suddenly flood through my body.

I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I'm suddenly afraid of this man. That bright blue suit and his stupid facial hair which was at first quite comical has become frightening. There's a prison sentence over my head and this guy is holding the key out of it.

By the sudden smugness of his expression, all this is showing on my face. I'm far too proud to admit that he's right or to ask for his help, so I just nod tersely. And thus my fate is sealed.

"The course starts in two weeks," he intones. "However I need the forms to be completed and sent off by Monday morning. You were a last minute addition to the batch from the Royal Institute of Panem, so we have to rush the paperwork a little bit to get you registered on time for this summer's programme."

I'm curious. "Who else is from school is going?"

"Other delinquent students, truants," says Crane. "You may well know some of them, but remember that this is not a recreational summer camp – your behaviour and progress will be very strictly monitored in order to determine how capable you are to mould to this country's values and expectations of social behaviour. Of which you have so far failed."

Ouch! I have to bite my tongue hard to stop myself from snapping back at him. Maybe if I show a little bit of restraint he might take it easy on me and just fuck off...

My dad lifts one of the leaflets, a frown on his face. I glance down at the still prostrate body of my mom and wonder should we have at least lifted her off the floor onto the couch.

"Why is it so far away from the Capitol?" my dad asks.

"It was built as part of an initiative to boost job development in the lesser districts," says Crane. He sets a whole bunch of forms and a nice sparkly pen on the table in front of me. "We also found that children from the outline districts are more inclined to be referred to the centre – logistically, it just makes more sense to be located out there. Sign these please, Marvel."

I skim through the address on the form but it makes no sense to me. "Where's 'the Seam'?"

"District 12," says Crane.

I nearly join my mother on the floor when I hear this. "_What_?"

"District 12," he repeats uselessly.

Sweet. Fucking. _Lord_! There's no way this is a rehab centre. It's got to be a death camp – a forced labour camp at the very least. No one in their right mind would equate 'rehabilitation' with 'District 12' – the place is a lawless, backwards hellhole full of uneducated loonies and people who live in trees. Principal Snow has to be running a scam here, a very professional scam. I'm going to spend the next two months breaking rocks with a pickaxe 14 hours a day to end up dying in a convenient 'accident' before I can leave...

I don't realise I'm saying all this out loud until my dad exclaims, "Oh Marvel, shut up, will you! You should've thought of all this before you blew up those toilets!"

I'm so angry at him, at Crane, at Snow, at Cato, at myself, that I sign the forms so roughly that I tear the paper. Then, not being able to resist being a dick, I throw the fancy pen on the floor and stamp on it. Crane's expression _still_ doesn't change, even when I lift my foot and reveal all the shattered little crystal fragments. I wonder is he actually a robot built by Snow to do his bidding. He collects the forms and tucks them neatly into his briefcase.

My dad's teeth seemed to have ground themselves down to bloody stumps by the time he's shaking Crane's hand and walking him to the door. He stops and looks at me as he's leaving, his gross beardy face twisted into a smirk.

"That was an expensive designer pen," he says. "I'll be adding that to your bill."

The door clicks shut behind him.

...

_Shit_.


End file.
